Violent Delights
by JadoreJAC
Summary: Once upon a time, an angel and a devil fell in love.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is obviously a repost. The original was deleted for having song lyrics as the summary, thus why the summary is different. Enjoy!**_

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Love doesn't always happen in black and white; amidst the two, there are smudges of grey. Enough smudges to blur everything you believed to be real and everything you thought wasn't. Love can make dreams come true...and nightmares become reality.

Dark red slid down the shiny length of the butcher knife, staining the otherwise perfect steel. My scream was balled at the base of my throat, either refusing to exit or _being_ refused. I watched in horror as my hand accidentally bled, covering most of my palm with the dark, dank insides of my veins.

I wasn't a fan of blood. Never have been. It smelled tangy and clinical at the same time, and stained everything. It was evil that way, coating every fiber so it became almost impossible to remove...always reminding you that it was there and couldn't be cast away so easily.

As I watched the gash across my hand gush, little did I know that blood would be the least of my fears.

...

Have you ever looked Death in the face? Watched it cry and clutch its empty belly, clawing at skin that did no harm, angry tears staining grey cheeks, brittle hair from a lack of motivation, and eyes so sunken in that you could barely tell the difference between sleep deprived-shadows and dilated pupils?

I have.

I looked Death in the face for two months straight and when I'd paid my time, I locked my door and turned up my music. It was a month into the new school year that my mother and father - Renee and Charlie respectively - agreed upon the mutual decision to uproot our lives in the only city I'd ever known, Chicago, to Forks, a town so small it was barely considered a blip on the radar.

I sat in the backseat of our SUV, headphones streaming Nirvana into my ears, watching the awkward tango of my parents' hands: Charlie would reach over, ghosting his hand over Renee's bony digits, hovering in hesitation until she finally withdrew her hand from the center partition, tucking it securely beneath her thigh. Even being mute to reality, courtesy of 90's rock, I could almost hear Charlie's huff of frustration with Renee.

He was such an asswad.

Miles upon miles of road soared under our tires before we finally reached our new home. Begrudgingly, I could admit to myself its appeal.

It was amongst other beautiful mini-mansions, ideally lined up on a street deemed historical. Ours, a dark-bricked Victorian, was shaded by hulking trees and fenced all the way around by black iron, forming a small, ornate gate at the front sidewalk.

With the showmanship of a desperate asskisser, Charlie opened up Renee's door and helpfully ushered her out of the car. Despite there being no more reason, Renee, out of habit, clutched her stomach. In the dull light of the Washington sun, I could make out a few more stress wrinkles that hadn't yet before graced her eyes, and her hair, once beautiful and shiny, was a bleak, mousey color.

Charlie beamed up at the large house as if this was his second chance. Then again, being such a colossal asshat, he probably did believe it was.

The realtor, a charismatic, middle-aged woman named Charlotte, raved about the house like a seasoned car salesman. Words like _original wood flooring, basement with fully-functioning washer and dryer, and completely remodeled kitchen_ brightened the dim spark in Renee's eyes. Charlie caught on to this quickly, encouraging Charlotte to use more beautiful words like _half the asking price_.

I wandered away, bored and unimpressed with the old Victorian. Curious feet brought me upstairs, down the lengthy hall, to the last bedroom on the right. A wrought iron bedframe sat against the wall, glowing bright by the naked window behind it. The cathedral ceiling gave the room a bigger appeal with a low hanging mini-chandelier substituting for a real light.

Mentally, I unpacked my belongings that still sat in the moving truck outside, imagining the way I would drape a scarf over the vintage floor lamp and how I'd set up my posters to liven up the dreary walls.

A frail hand slipped around my waist, rising with me as I jumped in fright. Renee smiled with still-sad eyes, roaming over features that she, too, once had.

"Do you like your bedroom?" She asked, glancing over the huge space.

I nodded, meaning it. "I think I'll like it more once I unpack everything."

"It's dark, isn't it?" She said out loud in a strangly detached voice.

"What is?" I asked back.

"This house," she clarified in a murmur. "It seems dark."

I stared over at her tired face, trying to remember the last time I saw pure happiness from her. "I don't think moving to the corner of the country is going to help the problems you and Ch- I mean _Dad_ are having," I confessed with a biting snark.

Glistening eyes met mine. "I'm trying, Bella. I really am."

"What you're doing is weak," I admitted, my heart hammering as I said things that I had only thought before.

Renee shook her head, spilling tears as a result. "I'm doing what's best for this family, not just for me."

I looked back into my room, finally seeing the darkness she mentioned. "I think I'd like to be alone now."

She nodded, rubbing my back up and down once, then left. I moved to my bare bed, flopping on my back. The ceiling, once so high, now seemed closer and I wondered, morbidly, if anyone had ever hung themselves from it.

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	2. Chapter 2

A muffled, blood-curdling scream from downstairs was a bucket of ice water in my veins. It raised the hairs on my skin and chilled me to my core. Rising slowly from my supine position, I stared wide-eyed at my closed bedroom door, afraid that if I blinked, something would get me.

It was moments or minutes that I was paralyzed in sheer terror; slowly but surely, my functioning came back, and I shuffled to the door, creaking it open gently. I took quiet steps across the groaning wood floors, inching down the stairwell and toward the kitchen. The scene before me was confusing.

A woman, middle-aged with a Southern belle bouffant the color of spun caramel, stood in the open doorway that led to the side of the house, bearing a plate of cookies. Beside her was a young girl, shaking in fear with one single teardrop on her porcelain cheek. At the last second, Charlie ran up behind me, heaving.

"How'd you get in here?" Renee asked the two strangers needlessly; the kitchen doorway was ajar, allowing in a chilling breeze.

The older woman answered with a charming lilt and deceiving smile. "Well, your door was open. I didn't mean to frighten ya', honey."

"Why would you just come in?" Renee demanded, forgoing any semblance of manners.

The woman tilted her head and smiled again, gliding forth. "I'm Esme Cullen. I live next door. I baked you ginger cookies as a welcoming present." She presented the wrapped plate of cookies with aplomb, folding her hand around Renee's wrist as she reached to take them. "They're best with apple cider."

Renee smiled softly and nodded, her ire and confusion calmed by the gift. "Well thank you very much. We appreciate it. I'm Renee Swan by the way."

Charlie suddenly remembered his role, side-stepping around me and sidling up to Renee. "And I'm Charlie, the husband. This is our daughter, Bella."

Esme's attention was then on me, her hazel eyes burning through me. "Bella," she tested strangely. "Such a lovely name," she complimented. "This is my daughter, Alice. You two look to be about the same age."

"I'm seventeen," I corrected her.

Esme smiled knowingly, touching the small girl's head. "My Alice is only 14. Just a few years difference…"

Renee hunched down, leveling with the small girl. "Nice to meet you, Alice."

When Alice didn't reply, Esme chuckled. "She can't speak. She was born mute." Her voice dropped to an unnecessary whisper. "And not very adept at sign language either." Sensing the sudden awkwardness, Esme changed subjects quickly. "I love what you've brought to the place so far. The last owners didn't have such good taste."

Renee looked surprised. "You knew the previous owners? Our realtor said the house hadn't been occupied for ten or so years."

"Oh, yes," Esme imparted with a gossipy tone. "Newlyweds. They didn't last very long…"

"Didn't like the house?" Renee guessed with a chuckle.

Esme paused, staring for a moment. "Yes, that's it." There was another pause where she seemed to snap out of her daze and came back to her hospitable manners. "Well, I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. It was so nice meeting y'all."

As they shuffled toward the door, both Charlie and Renee reciprocated the sentiment. Esme turned, smiled, and left with the parting words: "I'm sure I'll be seeing you."

I noticed how she never apologized for coming in.

...

It was after dinner that I'd completed the tedious task of unpacking my belongings; finally my new bedroom looked like _me_. My clothes were hung in the closet and stashed in the dresser, my bed was made, and my posters were plastered to the dark walls. My trusty iPod was plugged into my speakers, drowning me in pissy music.

Muffled knocks vibrated my door before Renee pushed inside; on one hip she cradled a large white basket filled with clothes. "I need your clothes from today. I'm doing laundry."

I changed into pajamas in my adjacent bathroom, and then dropped my traveling clothes into the basket. Suddenly, a vibrant tone from the master bedroom down the hall rang out. Renee cursed and handed over the basket.

"Could you just throw that into the washer for me please?" She asked, running out of my room.

I groaned out loud, rolling my eyes. Taking the stairs down, I took notice of how dark it had gotten over the past hours. The windows showcased nothing but pure black, no twinkling stars or streetlights to offset the darkness. As I cranked open the door leading to the basement, I smoothed my hand over the wall, feeling for a switch.

However, when I pushed it up, an extremely faint yellow light burned at the top of the staircase, barely illuminating the steps. I glared down into the seemingly limitless abyss at the foot of the stairs, wondering how pissed Renee would be if I conveniently "forgot" to throw in the laundry. I shook my head needlessly, willing myself to muster up some courage.

Running down into the darkness, I attempted to catch sight of the washer and dryer in the blackness. I tried, to no avail, to search for a light somewhere, anywhere, but I couldn't find one. And suddenly, I felt not…_alone._

I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or breathe for fear of the unknown behind me. I took a few moments to mentally prepare myself to turn around, swiveling only to be met with complete and utter darkness. Quickly, I threw open the washer lid and dumped the entire basket in haphazardly. With my skin crawling and my heart lodged in my throat, I fled up the stairs, sure the entire time there was something behind me.

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	3. Chapter 3

"You're going to be great here."

"Don't feed me sugarcoated encouragement," I mumbled sullenly, pulling my hood up to shroud my face.

Changing subjects, Renee asked, "Are you hungry? I could stop somewhere…" She straightened up, looking out the window for fast-food franchises.

"No thanks," I denied, "I'm full on bullshit this morning."

She sighed, unable to find the strength to exacerbate my attitude. The car was quiet then, wet tires and early morning traffic our soundtrack. Two lefts turns later, the car nudged itself into the entrance of a disappointing brick building, its purpose only given away by the miniscule sign wedged into the wet earth out front: **FORKS HIGH SCHOOL** it read in block letters.

I attempted to tamp down the sudden surge of anger I felt at the preposterousness of the entire situation. While I had never been the type to maintain many, if any, friendships, I still longed for my old school in Chicago. I may not have been considered the most popular, the best dressed, or even the prettiest there, but at least my peers and surroundings had been familiar.

Here, I was a fish out of water…pun intended, given the wet climate. I noticed with extreme unhappiness that most of the kids wore rain boots and sported umbrellas. There were no dark clouds in sight and even a few bleak rays of light breaking through the thin sheet of white, which meant that one always had to be prepared for shitty weather around here. I groaned loudly, causing Renee to frown.

Surprising me, she apologized: "I'm sorry you have to get used to a new school. Especially in your senior year."

My sour mood flared with a vengeance. "I didn't _have_ to. You and Dad made your own decisions without me in mind."

She nodded, studying me. "Maybe you should talk about your feelings on the move in a professional manner. You could talk to Daddy," she suggested, incorporating the childlike term I myself had not used since middle school in an attempt to soften me.

However, the complete injustice of it all would not allow me to budge. "I'm not going to have Dad doctor me. I'm not one of his crazy patients."

"Isabella Marie," Renee chastised in her 'disappointed mother' voice, "you shouldn't talk like that. People can't help the disorders they have."

Charlie, a criminal psychologist, made our living by talking to inmates for hours on end every day. He interrogated the rankest of minds and deemed them fit or insane for trial and outside life.

"Yeah, well I'm not a prisoner so I don't need to talk to him."

As soon as the car had jolted to a stop, I threw open my door and walked to the school entrance, a frown and an upturned hood as my accessories.

...

Adjusting to Forks life wasn't hard. My classes were easy on a bullshit level, no one talked to me nor I them, and I locked myself in my room after school every day, drowning in pissy, angry music. However, my behavior "concerned" both Renee and Charlie, causing them to seek professional help for me.

So on the following Monday, riding in the passenger seat across from Renee, I was yet again bathed in unhappiness. Our destination was the same, the tension was the same, but the conversation was not.

"Daddy's going to have to take you to the therapist after school," she said, staring straight forward with rigidity.

Sighing harshly, I demanded, "Why does _he_ have to take me? I already don't want to go to this fucking appointment."

"Language," Renee berated half-heartedly. "And _he's_ taking you because I have a doctor's appointment during that time."

Just the mention of her appointment melted away most of my anger. This move had not been fair on me at all. I still firmly believed that both of my parents were unfailingly selfish, one more so than the other, but I hadn't taken the time to feel pity for my mother…the reason for her even needing to see the doctor, coupled with my shithead father, were the catalysts to our move.

As she dropped me off at the school entrance, as she had every day last week, I looked into her brown eyes and gave her, "Good luck, Mom."

...

"Isabella Swan," Charlie said, providing my name to the secretary. She clacked a few keys, scanned my insurance card, and suggested we wait in the sitting room.

Sinking into one of the button-tufted leather chairs, I grabbed a magazine blindly, flipping through the stiff pages carelessly.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Charlie asked me. It was the first time we had spoken in three days, and his voice sounded shaky.

"Not particularly," I replied, scanning the article in front of me.

"Alright," he mumbled, grabbing a magazine for himself.

Minutes went by as we sat in silence, the sheer quietness unnerving me. I stood, throwing the People in the chair. "I'm going to the bathroom," I informed him, walking away.

I found the bathroom buried deep in an upstairs corner. Instead of going in, I strayed to the right, finding one room with a door closed almost all the way, allowing only a glint of light to come through a crack. Inching closer, I made out voices: both a male and female. Despite knowing I was entering dangerous territory, I folded my legs, sitting merely inches from the cracked door.

"And when you think of killing yourself, do you have a plan in mind?" The female voice asked.

I could hear the smile in the responding male voice. "Of course. I'm nothing if not thorough." There was a sort of clacking sound as he considered his next words. "First, I put on my favorite clothes, comb down my hair, brush my teeth. There's no sense in looking unpresentable. Then, I saturate my entire room in gasoline, foot by foot. My Zippo would be the only casualty I'd care about losing." A clack echoed again, indicating that he _had_ said lighter. "With any luck, it would spread to my mother's room." A quiet edge that wasn't before there coated his tone.

"And why fire?" The woman questioned. "Even superficial burns are extremely painful."

"I like the essence of fire," he explained. "It's wild and unpredictable, and yet we need it for the most mundane of activities; cooking for example. It can be used to warm, sterilize…torture."

"I see," the woman mumbled, her scribbled writing louder than her words. "Well, Edward, that's all the time we have today. I think this was a good first session."

Adrenaline soared through me at the possibility of getting caught. I stood immediately, running away as quietly as possible. Downstairs, as I came closer to the waiting room, I slowed, not wanting to alert Charlie to my most likely illegal shenanigans. Regardless of my pounding heart and swimming head, I managed to nonchalantly fall back into the leather chair, appearing as if I were bored.

Moments later, footsteps neared. A large red-haired woman rounded the corner, smiling when she faced Charlie and me. "Isabella Swan?"

I stood, correcting her. "I prefer Bella."

She shook my hand with a bigger smile, introducing herself. "I'm Dr. Cope. Right this way."

I followed behind, heading toward the same hallway I'd secretly snooped on her and her last patient. As we reached the stairs to take us to her second-level office, I glanced to my right. At the secretary's window, a boy stood there staring straight at me with the most satisfied of smiles. I looked away at once, embarrassed at the unexpected eye contact. Was that the boy I'd heard, obsessed with his own death?

Step by step until we reached the second landing, I could have sworn his eyes stayed on me the entire time…and my skin felt on fire.

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	4. Chapter 4

"So your file indicates that you just moved into town," Dr. Cope noted. "Your parents have also expressed concern over how you're dealing with the move. Could you tell me your feelings about it?"

"It's fine," I shrugged, looking anywhere but at her.

"I moved around a lot as a teenager," she disclosed. "It was hard on me. Every time I got comfortable somewhere, we up and moved again."

I knew what she was doing; I wasn't stupid…but her story caught something inside me, like a fish to a hooked worm.

"Yeah, that part sucks," I admitted. "I loved Chicago. Chicago was my home."

She nodded. "Because you, as an adolescent, are in your formative years, it's imperative that you have stability. Moving homes certainly does not provide that."

"Neither does a scumbag dad," I blurted.

This got her attention. While she did not show any overt excitement, I caught a glimmer in her eye at my participation. "Why do you think your father is a scumbag?" She asked.

"I don't _think_, I _know,_" I corrected her.

"Could you explain?" She urged.

I glanced down to my lap, wondering if I could relay the horrifics of that night so many months ago. My blood still boiled even thinking about it. After a silent minute and a half of preparation, I began. "A few months ago my mom had a miscarriage." Dr. Cope waited patiently as I paused. "She woke up in the middle of the night, in a puddle of blood, screaming and crying. I had to drive her to the hospital because my _father_ wasn't home."

"And where was he?" She asked calmly.

"While his wife was bleeding out his unborn baby, Charlie was off banging the waitress from our local diner."

"How did you find out about the affair?" Dr. Cope prompted.

I blew out an angry breath, attempting to reign in all the cursing I wanted to do. "When I called him from the hospital, _she_ - his mistress - accidentally answered his phone."

"That must have been horrible for you," she sympathized. "It must be especially difficult for you to interact with your father given how you encountered the other woman firsthand."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's hard to even look at his face."

There was silence as she wrote. Her next words were speculation. "I imagine you might have some unpleasant feelings toward your mother as well...? Seeing that she and your father are still clearly together."

My lip curled involuntarily. "I love my mom," I vowed. "I really do. She and I are, or used to be, close. But in my mind, I just see her as weak. She has no reason to stay with that..._man_ if you can even call him that, and yet she fell right back into his trap."

She nodded, scribbling on her notepad again. "What you're feeling is completely normal and justified. Parents don't often think about how extramarital affairs affect the children."

"No," I mumbled, "they don't."

"So, I'm assuming that the move here was because of the miscarriage and affair?"

I affirmed her assumption with a short nod of my head.

"Were you consulted before they made that decision?"

"Nope," I popped out. "I was just sat down at the dinner table one night and they told me we were moving. This was "_our fresh start_" they said."

There was more writing before she spoke again. "I hear a lot of anger from you. Anger that is completely normal and substantiated. However, that is what we need to work on in our sessions. I have an assignment for you to do before our next appointment."

"Alright..."

She smiled gratefully at my cooperation. "I'd like for you to sit down with your mom, go out to eat, whatever. But I want you to tell her, in a calm manner, what you're feeling. You may tell her everything you told me, or even more if there is, but it has to be calmly. Can you do that for me?"

I thought about it. Thought about the many possible ways an emotional sharing could turn out, but eventually I nodded, agreeing.

"Good," Dr. Cope smiled. She looked at the clock quickly. "Well, our time is up for today."

I stood with her, shaking her hand as she held it out. "Thank you," I said quietly and sincerely.

"It's my pleasure, Bella."

...

"Did you like Dr. Cope?" Charlie inquired quietly as we pulled out of the building lot.

"Yep."

"Bella," Charlie said painfully. "Can you please stop with the attitude toward me? Please..."

I scoffed in disbelief, looking over at him. "Why should I?" I demanded. "You don't care about anyone but yourself. Why should I show _you_ any mercy?"

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face harshly. "I love you, Bella. More than life itself. And I love your mother, more than you think."

"Anything's more than I think, because I don't believe you love her at all."

"I love this family," he vowed, staring at the road. "We moved here to restart our life."

"Yeah, well I didn't need to restart! I was perfectly fine in Chicago, but because _you_ couldn't keep it in your pants, I have to suffer."

"Isabella Swan, I am still your father, whether you like me or not, and you will not speak to me that way," he snapped with an edged tone.

I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms, and looked out the window. Charlie was quiet, I was quiet, the car was silent. It was awkward, painfully, and the minutes it took to get home stretched into oblivion.

When we finally did pull into our driveway, I hopped out, making sure to slam the car door behind me. Making my way to the front door, I heard no other car doors opening. Chancing a look back, I saw the vision of Charlie with his head on the steering wheel, his back rising and falling with his heavy breaths. I shook my head at his self-pity and pushed inside, going straight upstairs.

Curled on my bed, I finally knew what it was to be alone. Sure, I had my parents, but they were more of a team together than us as a unit. And despite his indiscretion, Renee would always be on Charlie's side. I wasn't sure if her love was unconditional or just plain stupid. My stress levels were high, and I could feel the blood beat behind my eyeballs. I knew exactly what I needed.

First, I peeked out the front window, seeing Charlie had left for somewhere. My mother's car was not in the driveway either, signaling she was still at her doctor's appointment. I jumped on my chance. Flying down the steps with quick feet, I went into the master bedroom. A box sat on Charlie's nightstand - it was where he kept all his expensive watches.

But I knew better.

Charlie thought he was so sneaky, hunching down in the backyard to smoke. He really was a dumbass. Snaking my hand beneath the top level of gold watches, my fingers found purchase on a rectangle. I pulled out the pack of cigarettes, hoping a smoke would calm my ire.

I snuck out the backdoor, although no one was around to catch me, and marched through the backyard. Behind our house was mostly trees, but a small gazebo sat between our house and the next, hidden by a hulking maple. I slinked toward it, pushing back the leaves, only to discover it was already occupied.

I screamed out in terror. "Who the hell are you?!"

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	5. Chapter 5

_Behind our house was mostly trees, but a small gazebo sat between our house and the next, hidden by a hulking maple. I slinked toward it, pushing back the leaves, only to discover it was already occupied._

_I screamed out in terror. "Who the hell are you?!"_

The boy glanced up at my outburst, sitting up from his reclined position. He ignored my question and sat patiently, waiting. For what, I didn't know.

And that's when I recognized him. He was the boy from the secretary's window, and possibly Dr. Cope's other patient whom I had secretly violated. I glanced over him, realizing distance did him no justice at all.

Just feet away, I got a much, much clearer view of him. He was grungy-styled, decked out in ripped jeans and a flannel that was too baggy for his seemingly lean frame. He also didn't look like he made a habit of brushing his hair, which was a mess of butterscotch and copper tendrils. However, despite his attractiveness, I felt imposed on...and scared as hell.

"Did you follow me home?" I accusingly questioned.

He grimaced in offense. "No," he said bluntly. "I live next door." His head tilted toward the homey yellow Cape Cod across the way.

"Oh," I muttered, appropriately ashamed and dangerously thrilled.

He smiled at my chastised deflation. "Don't worry, I get it. You never know what kind of weirdos you can find at a shrink's office." Oddly enough, he didn't seem at all surprised to see me standing in front of him.

I chuckled at his attempt at a joke, shoveling the toe of my sneaker into the earth. "Um, so what are you doing in our gazebo?"

His brows lifted playfully, amused at my question. "Considering no one's lived here in a decade, I figured this place was fair game." White teeth gleamed behind bitten lips.

"Right," I nodded, finally stepping into the gazebo. Sitting across the way from him, I pulled a cigarette from Charlie's secret pack and poised it at my lips.

A Zippo cut into my line of vision, a small red flame burning out. "Need a light?"

Reminded of suicide and fire, I glanced up, taken aback by his startling black eyes and the ring of red around them that made me think of sleepless nights. He lit my cigarette, pulling back when smoke puffed out.

"What's your name, stranger neighbor?" The left corner of his mouth pulled up in a mocking smile.

I forced myself not to stare at his strangely enticing mouth, and answered, "Bella...Bella Swan."

Long fingers reached out for my cigarette, which I passed over. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke seep out of his swollen lips like a nighttime graveyard. "Edward...Edward Cullen."

I didn't disclose that I'd already heard his name from my earlier eavesdropping. "Quite a pretentious name for such an unpretentious-looking guy," I noted.

"Not sure how to take that," he chuckled. "But I'll maintain it as a compliment." He pulled more smoke in before passing it back to me. "My mother is old South so she's to blame for my pretentious nom de plume."

"That's cute," I told him, smiling. The silence was weird as we were virtual strangers, but there was a comfort there, an immediate sense of connection. Instead of maintaining the quiet comradery, I bit the curiosity bullet. Hard.

"So...why are you seeing Dr. Cope? Are you crazy or something?" I laughed to lighten the heaviness of my question.

He stared at me evenly and I noticed for the first time how fair his skin really was, almost ghostly in its pallor. "Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

I clamped my mouth shut, horrified at the probability that he knew I had listened in on his session. I broke our eye contact, embarrassed to even face him if he knew what I had done.

"We're all crazy," he told me, that charming lilt to his voice again. "Some people are just better at hiding it." A grin lit up his attractive face, a mischievous one that I did not fully trust.

"Edward!" I looked to him, startled by the screeched call that came from nearby. Hurriedly, I smooshed my cigarette into the floor of the gazebo, fearing being caught.

The woman from the the day we moved in - Esme with the caramel bouffant - rounded the corner, stopping in her tracks when she saw that Edward was not alone.

"My, my. I had no idea you two were acquainted," she chirped with her infamous Georgia peach accent.

Edward didn't look at her as he replied. "We just now got acquainted."

"Oh," she murmured, smiling gently at me. "I've been looking for you for over half an hour, Edward. I couldn't find you anywhere." One elegant hand was splayed across her heart in a dramatic fashion.

Midnight black eyes stared into mine, never straying, as he significantly said, "If you want me, all you have to do is call my name."

Esme seemed to sense the vibe Edward was giving out, finally backing up a step. "Well, Alice wanted me to get you. She's all in a tizzy about something and Lord knows I can't deal with drama tonight."

Edward blew out a harsh breath and closed his eyes, sucking in his cheeks which stuck out his angled cheekbones. "I'll be right there, _Mother_."

Esme smiled at me one last time and flitted away, making sure to look behind her shoulder before disappearing into her house. I stared down at my lap, feeling awkward from the tension that accompanied Edward and his mother's conversation.

"Thanks for hanging out with me."

My head whipped up at his velvet tone, and a grin came upon me involuntarily. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the light." If I was honest with myself, my heart ached just a little at the thought of him leaving so soon. He was mysterious and I had so many questions, all of which had to do with my immediate attraction to him.

He stood and walked away to leave before swiveling abruptly. "Hey, do you wanna meet here tomorrow night?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Tomorrow night, 9ish. Do you want to meet here to hangout again?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "That'd be great."

A dangerous spark lit the corner of his eyes as he backed away, and all at once he reminded me of a model of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty, blameless in his ways until wickedness was found within him. Edward was alluring and cunning and fell down from Heaven like lightning.

I was but a little sacrificial lamb.

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	6. Chapter 6

Hearing the deep voice droning on like a hive of bees, I pushed open the classroom door, stopping in my tracks as the lesson ceased and Mr. Berty stared at me.

In that instant, I wished for nothing more than to disappear. There was hardly anything worse than having 20+ pairs of eyes on you, judging you silently. I sighed, wishing hard for invisibility.

My wish went ungranted however.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumbled half-heartedly, skulking toward my desk with my head down.

"Next time's a detention," he warned me, wagging his chalk-laden fingers at me.

With the silence of a church mouse, I slid into my seat and unpacked my materials, ready for a period of Creative Writing. Mr. Berty went on about our project for the week, an assignment based off murders committed within our town's limits.

"I have one homicide for each of you. Your assignment is to write a letter from the murderer explaining why they committed the crime." At this, several of my classmates groaned, obviously displeased with the homework. Mr. Berty took it all in stride, chuckling at the reaction. "I know, I know. It's morbid...but it's also creative and that's the whole point of the class." He strode over to his desk, picking up the small fish bowl that sat on top, shaking it so that the scraps of paper inside swished and mixed.

"Let's have," he looked over at the attendance sheet, "Tyler Crowley come up and have the first pick."

He proceeded on this way, going down the class roll alphabetically until it reached me, the last name on the list. I went up, grabbed the lone scrap inside the bowl and went back to my seat before unfolding it.

Eight words were scribbled in black ink across the white shred: _The double homicide of Michael and Jessica Newton._

"If you can promise me you'll behave," Mr. Berty bellowed, "I'll release you early to the library so you can get a start on your assignments."

There was a collective murmur of agreement within the class to which Mr. Berty nodded, waving his hand to the door. I gathered up my things slowly, and followed behind my peers. Once inside the library, I found the deepest unoccupied corner and sat, curling my legs in. I pulled out my dog-eared paperback and flipped to page 200 of _The Shining_.

...

As the clock struck 2:30, a dangerous thrill coursed through my veins. For what, I wasn't sure.

That was a lie I tried to convince myself of.

Much to my dissatisfaction, it did not seem as if Edward Cullen was in my school. I wasn't sure if he was in college, dropped out, or homeschooled, but I didn't see him at all throughout the day...no matter how hard I looked or tried to imagine.

I just had so many questions for him. Which was why I was looking forward to meeting up with him later.

Another lie I told myself.

If I was being honest, it was because I was weirdly drawn to him. There was something quiet and soft and dark about him that beckoned me, that made me want to know everything about him.

It was difficult being truthful to myself.

Having no friends at my new school also made it extremely hard to find out anything about Edward Cullen. Being the new student could have gone two ways: I'd have been viewed as the shiny new thing and been welcomed with open arms, _or_ simply acknowledged with a too-long stare and then ignored as if I didn't exist, which happened to be my dilemma.

I enjoyed being altogether left alone, but for this one particular instance, I wished for a friend. An acquaintance even.

Renee seemed almost cheerful when she picked me up from school, singing along to some awful country song on the car ride home. Her cheeks, I noticed, seemed pinker and her eyes brighter. When the song ended, she turned the radio down, glancing over at me.

"How was your day at school?"

I shrugged, staring out the window at the trees that never wanted for moisture.

"Do you like your classes? I know Chicago was ahead of schedule so if you need for me to rearrange any, let me know."

"They're fine," I murmured, catching a quick glimpse of kids running through a pumpkin patch.

Renee ended her questioning, but there was still an energy about her. As if she was buzzing in her skin.

I finally conceded and did what I knew she wanted all along. "What's got you so excited?"

I could practically _hear_ her grin. "Your dad's taking me out on a date tonight, but he won't tell me where. It's a surprise!"

I snorted softly. "Not exactly many fancy places around here. I wouldn't get my hopes up." Her smile deflated a bit and instantly I felt bad. "I'm sure you'll have fun though."

At my slight acquiescence, Renee looked over, giving me an appreciative beam. "I will. Your father always planned the best dates back when we first got together. He took me stargazing once. Loaded up the back of his truck with five or so blankets and ten pillows, and we spent the night looking at the sky and enjoying each other's company."

In a rare act of lightheartedness, I wrinkled my nose. "Ew, Mom, I do _not _want to hear about your and Dad's escapades."

She regarded me with shock for a moment before bursting out in laughter. "That is not what I meant!"

I smiled, enjoying the sound of her laughter. It had been too long since I'd seen genuine joy in her eyes. "Sure, sure."

She let out a few more soft chuckles before continuing her point. "That means you'll be on your own for dinner tonight."

I shrugged, imagining my date - if you could call it that - with Edward later. "That's fine."

"I can cook you something or we can leave you money for takeout."

"I'll take the money," I picked quickly.

"I'm not that bad of a cook," Renee defended herself.

"Four words," I said. "Kitchen fire of '09." Back in Chicago, Renee had gotten the bright idea to make fondue for her and Charlie's anniversary. Unfortunately, she read the instructions wrong and set the chocolate ablaze, sending a stream of fire down the stove and counters. Fortunately, Charlie and I were also home and were able to call 911 before it got too out of hand.

"That was an accident," Renee laughed, turning into our neighborhood.

As we passed by the house next door, I wondered if Edward liked red or blue flames the best.

...

It was a few hours later that my name was called from downstairs. I skipped down, meeting my parents in the foyer. Renee was dressed up in a floral skirt and a white blouse, and Charlie looked handsome in khaki pants and a blue button-down.

"We're leaving," Charlie said to me, cautiously meeting my eyes. He reached out to hand me thirty dollars, squeezing my palm as he did so. "Call us if you need something."

"'Kay, thanks," I muttered, awkwardly accepting both the cash and small gesture.

Charlie opened up the front door and Renee kissed my forehead and then I was alone. After the sound of the car tires had far drifted away, I did a slow circle, looking up into the two-story open foyer. The dark cherry wood made the whole house seem dark inside, even despite the tons of lighting Charlie had installed in addition to the originals. The silence began creeping in on me and I drifted into the kitchen, picking up the house phone.

I dialed the number on the nearest takeout menu and ordered rice and chicken from the Chinese restaurant. Just as I had hung up, a rumbling sound caught me off guard. I whipped around, looking to every doorway in the kitchen.

The doorway that led to the side of the house was firmly locked and the curtain drawn for privacy. The archway connecting to the dining room was blackened, ominous in its unknown. I shuffled back toward the foyer, opting to lock myself in my room until the Chinese came.

However, as I placed my foot on the first step and wrapped my hand around the banister, the sound rang out again. This time closer. I crept slowly and quietly toward the basement door, approaching it with reticence.

As I drew nearer, the sound became louder. Wrenching open the door, I wondered what I would be met with down the darkened stairs.

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	7. Chapter 7

Four prongs slid the leftover rice into the trash as I hunched over, still puzzled by the ding-dong-ditch by the Chinese deliverer. I was by no means ungrateful, but the frazzled brown bag of food on the front porch, and the image of the delivery person racing from my lawn confused me. I glanced up and the thought of free food fled from my mind; the clock read 8:30 PM. My heart pounded and palms sweat just at the thought of being near Edward again.

Abandoning the kitchen, I made my way upstairs. The trees through my window danced and swayed in the wind so pushing all nervousness from my mind, I threw on an oversized sweater and grabbed my Creative Writing book, swiping up a flashlight and a blanket for good measure. As the shimmying trees had suggested, the air was brisk outside, giving my hair an icy swirl and my skin a shiver.

The backyard was darkened, the pale moon blocked by treetops. I tried, in vain, to keep my gaze forward, so as not to look at the house next door. It was silly really. It wasn't as if his house could sense my overeager nature. Only sparing a swift glance to the right, ignoring the one lone lit up window upstairs, I jogged the rest of the way to the gazebo.

Despite me being 30 minutes early, I couldn't help but feel deflated when I found it empty. Instead of focusing on the lack of _hi__m_, I set up my blanket and curled inside it, preparing to read my book.

I hadn't been able to even think about starting on my assignment yet...as I had been too enamored with idealized thoughts of how my evening would turn out. But alone in a gazebo was as good a time as any, so I cracked open my book and began to scan the words underneath the harsh flashlight.

Just as a format came to my mind as how to write my paper, I heard crunching footsteps. My heart beat wildly - not for the possibility of an intruder, but because it _knew _he was here.

His sloppy hair was just the same: pushed all to one side, messy, but curled at the nape of his neck tonight. His smile lit up the dark area just as much as his fair skin. He was wrapped up in another flannel shirt with a large jacket over it, the same ripped jeans on his long legs.

"Fancy meeting you here," he teased. His voice reminded me of warmth, and even the wind hushed to hear him better.

My nervousness had all but ran away, and I was left with the feeling of pure anticipation of his presence. "Hey."

"What are you reading?" Edward wondered, settling down right up against me. The sides of our bodies were aligned and my skin was ablaze with feeling.

I pushed the book closed, giving him a better look. "It's for this assignment we have in my Creative Writing class. It's stupid," I mumbled, caught off guard again by his black eyes that were suddenly so close to me.

"What's the assignment?" He inquired, staring into my eyes with an intensity that almost took my breath away.

I managed to whisper out, "It's a murder project. We each got a specific homicide that happened in Forks, and we have to write the point of view of the murderer."

Interest sparked in his onyx eyes and a smile spread across his face. "That sounds like fun."

I snorted softly, looking away. "Morbid if you ask me."

"Insanity can be fascinating," Edward murmured, pulling the blanket around his right arm. "You really get to delve into the mind of a killer and try to think like they think." He paused. "You don't find that interesting at all?"

I thought about the way his words could be strung together so persuasively and I found that I did, in fact, find it interesting after all. "I guess it could be."

Edward bore a secret smile as he stared down at his lap, and I wondered what all his secrets were. I needed to know him. Inside and out. In all ways possible. Suddenly, he glanced up, half-smiling at me. "I could help you."

My instinct was to reject, not wanting to ruin any time spent with him on schoolwork. "I'm sure you have better things to do." And then an idea struck me. "You probably have your own homework to do..." I left my sentence open-ended, hoping he would either confirm or deny my obvious feeling-out.

He stared at me for a moment in silence, before breaking it with an answer. "Being home-schooled isn't exactly rocket science. I'm usually bored out of my mind by the end of the day. Helping you would be a...nice change."

To avoid embarrassment, I hid my huge grin in my shoulder. "Sure. Some other day this week, you can help me." He cocked his head in confusion. "Tonight, I just want to talk," I clarified.

A wicked smirk overtook his angelic face and suddenly, adrenaline coursed through me. I had no idea where this fear that spiked my brain had come from, but I didn't like it. Tamping it down by taking in Edward's beauty, I asked the first question of the night.

"How old are you, Edward?"

Over the next two hours, I learned things about Edward Cullen. He was seventeen, used to attend Forks High School before his mother pulled him out to be home-schooled, he loved playing baseball, was fiercely protective of his little sister, Alice, and his favorite season was fall when the leaves changed.

It was easy listening to him talk. His voice had a lullaby-effect; not in the way of sleepiness, but in calming me. I also found that I loved the way he looked me in the eyes when he talked, and the way his fingers not-so-absentmindedly stroked my wrist from time to time.

As the minutes ticked past 11, a flash of headlights slashed across the lawn. I sighed, knowing that our night had finally come to an end.

"My parents are home," I told him as we both jerked toward the sound of doors slamming.

He nodded, a crease forming between his brows. "I had fun tonight." He glanced up beneath his lashes, holding me in place with his almost-glare. "You're easy to talk to."

My mouth twitched in a soft smile. "So are you." A muffled call of my name in the distance caused me to stand up quickly. "Shit, I've gotta go." I quickly gathered up my things, turning to smile at him one more time. Before words even came out of his mouth, I was hoping for an invitation to hang out again.

"I'll see you soon," he told me.

It was as if he let all the air out of my heart. I nodded once, jogging away as my name was called again by Renee. Just as I made it to the back door of my house, I looked behind me out of curiosity. Edward leaned against the tree that shielded our meeting spot, one hand pushing copper tendrils from his eyes. My once-deflated heart jumped up in excitement, pounding nastily against my chest. A gleam of teeth showed me he was grinning, and I swore, that even a hundred feet away, I was transparent to him.

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	8. Chapter 8

**I'm SO sorry for the lack of updates and messaging on my part. My laptop died officially so I had no computer in order to write or update. My classes are done now so I will be posting regularly again! **

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Could one person make the world stop turning? Not necessarily in a catastrophic, doomsday sort of way, but more like life would cease to hold meaning if they didn't exist. Could a single soul bear that much weight in another person's life? These are the questions that plagued my intoxicated mind and kept me wide awake long after I had said goodnight to Edward.

There were just some people, I figured, that just had so much more than the average population; he certainly had enough to go around - the charm of a snake, the beauty of ancient carved stone, the sharpness of a tac, and two black marble eyes that I couldn't seem to shake away. Yes, I surmised, a select few were just gifted twice around.

My ruminating dwelled well into the night and early morning, granting me only four hours sleep before obnoxious factory ringtones were beckoning me up again. The morning was surprisingly sunny, as stripes of light burst through the slats in my window shades, slashing across the grim-looking floorboards. Dust motes danced a routine, floating in ecstasy as they were showcased in the sun.

Because I was unable to help myself, I wondered what Edward was doing at that exact moment. Was he asleep? On his back or stomach, was he wearing full pajamas or nothing at all?

Or perhaps, was he looking out his own bedroom window, thinking about me?

I shook my head quickly and fiercely. Somehow the thoughts of him daydreaming about me were far more dangerous than the naked ones. To fill my busy mind, I began my morning routine of hygiene and dressing.

My days at Forks High also became routine to me. I walked the same paths to each class, kept to myself for the entire day, did my homework, and came home to a quiet, empty house that I wasn't even sure I wanted to be in anymore. The only bright spots in my days were thinking of Edward.

When the perpetual rain saddened my heart, I thought of his hair, like a frayed copper wire. When I brushed past my father, riddled with awkwardness and unsaid words, I thought about his skin, so pristine and lovely. And when I sat alone, having spoken almost no words all day, I thought of our conversations.

Today was no different. Creative Writing with Mr. Berty was probably my favorite class of the day, and not just because we normally had the period to read and research. Unfortunately I had yet to begin research for my murder project, so I had to dedicate all my time gathering information.

Thankfully, I was released in order to browse through the skim selection of books on homicide in the Forks High Library. More than anything, I enjoyed the almost nonstop hush of whispers of my peers, the quiet murmurs soothing in a way that I was unfamiliar with. My fingertips trailed the books' spines, bringing with them clouds of dust from disuse. How sad, I mused, that people these days preferred film over the written word nowadays. I yearned for a simpler time, one that wasn't so technology-obsessed or vanity-ridden.

Feeling like I had wasted enough time, I searched through the library's computer for books that could help my project. I spent half an hour on a treasure hunt, browsing, scouting, discovering, and hunting. Armed with a pile of hardcover books, I made myself at home in the backmost corner of the room, which was entirely blocked off with high shelves of reference books except for the small little path that led out to the main part of the library.

Because the walls were mostly made of glass, it was incredibly easy to feel like I was in a fishbowl of sorts. Even the ceiling was see-through, making the rainfall a beautiful experience. I smiled at myself; maybe I was finally warming up to the constant downpour.

Due to my serene soundtrack, I had not heard the final bell. I laughed gently as I watched the swarm of students all attempting to race to their cars in the heavy rain, some slipping their way across the parking lot, and others just flat-out eating shit.

I decided to use the hour and a half I had left of the library being open to really buckle down and get some usable information on my project. One book in particular interested me; its hard cover was midnight black, with just two stripes of gold trim. It appeared odd for a book of homicides, too fancy for such a macabre purpose.

I thumbed through the index, finding the names of my victims: Michael and Jessica Newton. I picked through my pages, flipping to page 87. The small article began on the bottom of the right side of the book, spearheaded by the bold words **NEWTON DOUBLE HOMICIDE**.

I read through the first few paragraphs, almost enthralled by the poetic nature of the words, the descriptions. Dr. Michael Newton was a children's psychiatrist, and new to the town of Forks in 1995. His spouse, Jessica, was an East Coast socialite and more of a trophy wife than anything. They didn't mingle much with the Forks crowd, nor did they socialize with their neighbors.

Which made their deaths that much more horrifying. Found by Michael's work colleague, he and his wife were strung up by the second floor chandelier that hung down the open foyer. Their murderer had never been found, and no motives ever came to light.

I turned the page for more and almost choked in shock. There, in the top left corner, only mere inches in size, was a grainy black and white photo.

Of a familiar driveway, leading up to the house I now called home.

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